Pinch Flats and Politics

Remember the Hindenberg

Mike Varley over at Black Mountain Cycles was talking about frame pumps and pump pegs today. He uses them and makes sure the frames he designs have them. Anyone not knowing what a pump peg is might (at first encounter)  be confused. I know I was. I thought it was some kind of fitting for injecting helium into frames to lighten them. No, seriously, that was my first guess.

The more I get to know me the more I worry about myself. 

 But Wait and See if there are not Helium Injecting accusations at the Tour this year.

And who knows, maybe Helium Filled bicycles are the Wave of the Future. Please remember you First Heard About It Here. After all, the Wright Brothers were Bicycle Mechanics before they got into that Aeroplane Thing. 

 Who would ever have imagined that this:

Would one day lead to this:

So you can see where I get some of my notions.

Where Was I?

From Frame Pumps to International Space Stations is merely One Small Step for a mind like that of Ol' Tim Joe. I think.  I seem to have lost my train of thought...

Wedgies

Today's post has nothing to do with any of this except in some wildly abstract way. In a comment I made on Mike's site I mentioned how I have mounted my frame pump in typical Trailer Park Fashion using bungee cords and velcro straps. And it is a damn good thing that I did so, because today I had a flat on a longish ride Far, Far Away from any source of help or succor. And without succor, let's Face It: You're On Your Own.

One of the cool things about being insane is that now I was happy to get a flat, after years of walking the bike home or worse yet, having to call the Blonde In Residence to pick me up in the mini-van as though I were a dejected ten year old who had just lost his soccer match and got a wedgie to boot.

See Me Proud and Prepared

Not Anymore, Baby! Hah! Not only do I have a Poorly Mounted Frame Pump, but I also carry a Spare Tube! (Cue fiendish laughter.) And yeah, I didn't forget the tire irons, which actually should be called tire plastics for the sake of accuracy, or something. Stand Back, everyone, I'll handle this!

Le Danse Macabre

I forgot to mention that this flat tire occurred precisely at the same place on this lonely gravel road where some Unfortunate Fellow Creature had apparently Gone On To Greener Pastures. I never saw the carcass, because there was a veritable Begger's Feast of Big Black Vultures clumped together doing That Thing They Do. When I first pulled up, they eyed me warily and pretended to be concerned by fluffing their huge wings in dark and vaguely threatening fluffs, and when I removed the Frame pump they were definitely interested in what That Thing might be. But they all stuck around nonetheless, turning back to their Breakfast Buffet with only occasional glances my way.

So while I performed my First Ever Roadside Flat Tire Repair I was keeping one eye on what was happening over there about thirty feet away.

What's Mike Got That I Ain't Got?

Mike Varley has reported that it takes him about ten minutes to fix a flat in the wild. But has he ever done it amongst fifteen Giant Black Scary Birds hopping around with Raw Flesh dangling from their beaks? I was working pretty quickly because I wasn't sure what Vultures Do when the dead food runs out and the only thing at the Dessert Bar is an Old Sweaty Cyclist hunched over a bicycle. I certainly didn't plan to wait around and find out.

Luckily, changing flats is something I know about and this pinch flat was obvious and easy. The only difference between the Side of the Road and the Shop  (besides the carnage)   was that there was no Classic Rock on the radio or Cold Beer On the Bench. Well, there was no Bench, either...Next time I will carry glueless patches, also. But I swapped tubes, pumped away with the new frame pump, got enough Air In There to beat it on down the road to a less macabre spot and put in some more air.

Presta No Presto

Which brings up a point that is only peripherally related to today's theme, (whatever it is): Presta Pressure Gauges. A while back I learned to always travel with one of those handy-dandy stick gauges that you slap on the end of the Schraeder Valve and hey presto! A little stick pops out and tells you how many PSI's are in the tire. I do it three times and if all the readings are the same, I ride off reasonably confident that All Is Well and the Dreaded Pinch Flat won't be Comin' Round Here No More.

Now That I Have Your Attention

I can't tell you the Frustration and Near Madness that pinch flats have caused me. Well, actually, I Can Tell You if anyone is still reading. It is probably funny, but wasn't to me at the time...

It Happened At the Library

About a year ago, before I became Head (Only) Big Man In Charge of Fix-it at the Whispering Pines Trailer Park, I experienced a Period of Poverty so intense that Yea, Lo, and Verily the Internet was cut off. I was not proud of this, but neither was I defeated. The Local Library has Free Wi-Fi and Air-Conditioning, and I have a laptop. So everyday I would saddle up the old Mongoose, strap my rather ponderous seventeen inch Hewlett onto my back and pedal the seven miles to the Palace of Interwebular Satisfaction.

One day, however, I came outside only to discover that I had a flat on the rear. “Well”, I thought to myself, these things happen. I'll just walk it home.” After the first mile I let my Good Sense gain the upper hand on my Pride and I called the Blonde for a ride. Mini-van comes, I load bike, Home We Go. I pull tire, find weird little snake bite holes, apply patch: no harm, no foul.

Chili

The next day it happened again. At the Library. This time, I call the Blonde immediately and start yelling at her about cheap Chinese products and no good patches and how it gets Too Hot in Florida and Bicycles Are Stupid anyway and she says “Alright I'll pick you up but I've got to hurry 'cause I have a pot of Chili on the stove.” To which I replied “I'll meet you at the corner of US One and Palmetto to save time.” and started jogging (with the bike) away from the bike rack and down the street. Her Chili is That Good.

Anybody Need A Bathroom Break?

I would like to make this Long Story Shorter but it is already too late for that and I think, in hindsight, it gets better.

An Interlude of Sanity

For two days I forgo the pleasures of the Web and Free air-conditioning and I ride my Old Single Speed mountain bike on the Beach and around town and on the Bike Path Along the River. I am not confessing to a Fear of the Library;  who is afraid of the Library? But all the same, Money Was Tight and I was running low on glueless patches and all that Web surfing isn't very good for you.

Whaddaya Want For Nothin'?

But naturally, being only a human and not a very well-disciplined human at that, it finally came time to “check my e-mail. I'll just drop in for a minute.” I carefully rode my bicycle the seven miles to the Library. On the way, along my usual route, I used my laser vision to scout for imperfections in the road or bits of glass. While I felt silly doing it, once I got to the neighborhood of the Library, I was Watchful for Snakes. Yeah. Well? What of It? Those holes looked Just Like A Snake Bite. That's how bad this was getting. I pulled up to the where the bike racks were, hopped the curb, and went inside.

Not This Time, You Won't

But I was crafty. I went over to my usual spot, set up my computer, all the while watching for Suspicious Activity, and making sure I wasn't being watched. Then, before anyone could guess what I was doing, I moved Stealthily and Quickly back to the front foyer. Directing my Stern Gaze towards the bicycles, I was a Tiger, ready to pounce.

Nothing. Well, the bored security guy in his baggy cheap uniform was sitting out front taking a smoke break. When did Public Libraries start needing security guards? Confident nothing would happen with a Guard On Duty, I went back to my computer. I dallied about on the Internet for a while, but could not get comfortable. I should have been looking up snake-bite-lookin' holes in inner tubes, but even MY strange brain would never think that one up.

Then It Happened

 I returned to the bike rack and automatically squeezed the rear tire, a habit that remains with me to this day.  I was (to put it mildly) transmogrified to find it flat. I dropped to a crouch, looking wildly about me for whoever (or whatever) was Doing This Thing To Me. I went back inside to see if any of my Legion of Enemies were present. At that moment, it was Clear To Me I was being Stalked by Fanged Demons. Fanged Library-Goin' Tire Bitin' Demons were the only Logical Explanation.  Except...

I Blame Sarah Palin

I noticed that dumpy security guard looking my way. What's his problem? Wait a minute! HIM! That's it! It is some kind of Super-Evil Tea Party Plot to get Homeless Guys to stop coming to the Library and soakin' up free air-conditioning and dirtying up the restrooms and chewing on the magazines...THAT EXPLAINS EVERYTHING! That Security Guard is a Fanged Demon Hired By Sarah Palin to Bite My Bicycle Tires!

Dial 911! Wait, They Might Be In On It Too!

I call the Blonde. “You won't believe the sinister plot I have uncovered it is probably going on in every city in America and I've got to get home and write a Letter to the Editor Before it's too late...” When she hears the words “Letter to the Editor” she knows it is time to kick in Emergency Plan Budweiser. “Tim Joe, take it easy. Why don't I come get you and we'll go for a Drive on the Beach and what if I pick up some Beer and Ice on the way?”

All's Well That Ends Well

She Did and We Did and eventually I learned about Pinch Flats and and what those Snake Bites mean and I bought a pressure gauge and used it daily and never again  have I had my tire attacked by Fanged Demons.  

Presta Schmesta

Until today. Having recently put a New Rear Wheel on the Old Schwinn I now have entered the 19^th Century and a Whole New Way to put air in the tire and as of yet, I can't find a simple stick-type pressure gauge. All I can find are digital and dial gauges and most of them get poor reviews. The LBS wants me to solve my problem with a Floor Pump With a Gauge that they happen to have on sale at twice the worst Internet price. 

 So...Fanged Demons and Vultures today, Gauge Hunting tomorrow.


Whispering Pines Trailer Park and Pinch Flat Paradise
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